Gavin puffed out a nervous breath. That hit a little too close to home. You seem to think that all you had to do was show up here, and I’d just smile and pretend everything was fine. I’ve been doing that for three years, Gavin. I’m done. “I-I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered.

“Romance novels are primarily written by women for women, and they’re entirely about how they want to be treated and what they want out of life and in a relationship. We read them to be more comfortable expressing ourselves and to look at things from their perspective.”

Gavin blinked. “You guys are serious.”

“Dead serious,” Del said.

The Russian with the cheese problem nodded. “Reading romance make me know how much my wife and I see world differently, and how I need to be better job of speaking her language.”

“Her language?”

“Ever said something to Thea that you thought was totally innocuous only to have her storm off and then claim for hours that she’s fine?” Malcolm asked.

“Yeah.”

“Or say something you thought was funny only to have her get super offended?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

Yan piped in. “Or tell her that you put the dishes in the dishwasher only to have her get all pissy about how you shouldn’t expect a gold star for doing what should be the responsibility of any adult in the goddamn house?”

A chill ran down his spine. “Have you guys been talking to her?”

Yan snorted. “You guys speak different languages to each other.” He pointed at the book. “You’ll learn hers by reading romance.”

“But Thea doesn’t even read these kinds of books!”

The guys exchanged glances and then burst out laughing. Del patted him on the back. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this in the house.”

Derek Wilson, a local businessman he recognized from his TV commercials, spoke up. “She have one of those e-reader things?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know. I think so.”

“It’s full of romance novels. Trust us.”

Gavin looked at the book in his hand. “So you’re saying I need to d-do w-what the guy in this book does?” Good God, was he actually starting to listen to them?

“Not word-for-word, no,” Del answered. “The point is to fit the lessons of it into your own marriage. Plus, that’s a Regency, so—”

“What the hell is a Regency?”

“That means it’s set in eighteenth- or early nineteenth-century England.”

“Oh, great. That sounds relevant.”

“It is, actually,” Malcolm said. “Modern romance novelists use the patriarchal society of old British aristocracy to explore the gender-based limitations placed on women today in both the professional and personal spheres. That shit is feminist as fuck.”

Mack winked. “The sex scenes are also really fucking hot.”

Gavin dropped the book.

Mack and Wilson laughed and high-fived. “I loved that one,” Wilson said. “At least a BB Four.”

“Do I want to know what that means?” Gavin shuddered.

“It’s our rating system for how much sex is in it,” Wilson said.

“But what does BB stand for?”

The whole table spoke at once. “Book Boner.”

Gavin shot to his feet again. “This is ridiculous. My w-w-wife isn’t going to take me back because of some stupid books.” But what was even more ridiculous was that he was actually starting to consider it. It’s not like he could fuck things up any worse than they were.

“The books are just part of it,” Del said, picking up His Naked Countess or whatever it was called. “We’ve all been through it and came out on the other end better men, better husbands, and better lovers.”

Gavin stopped and looked up at that. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that got his attention.” Mack snorted. “Is that the problem, dude? Trouble in the bedroom?”

A heat rash broke out on Gavin’s neck. “No,” he growled.

“Because you know that problems in the bedroom stem from problems outside the bedroom. You can’t fix one without the other.”

Orgasms are the least of their problems.

Gavin jerked a thumb in Mack’s direction but spoke directly to Del. “Why is this dickweed part of the club? He’s not even married.”

“I’m here for the dirty parts,” Mack said, winking as he chomped into a slice of pizza, devouring half of it in one big bite.

Yan stood and approached him. “Look, I thought these guys were fucking with me too. I didn’t even look at the book they gave me for a month. But I’m telling you—we’re all telling you—we can help you. Book club isn’t just about books.”

Malcolm nodded solemnly. “It’s a brotherhood, man.”

“A way of life,” one of the city officials said.

Mack slung an arm over Wilson’s shoulder. “An emotional fucking journey.”

Gavin backed up. “I don’t like emotional journeys.”

“Just trust us,” Del said. “We’ll come up with a plan for saving your marriage every step of the way.”

“Are you sure you’re not just screwing with me?”

“You’re one of my best friends,” Del said. “Do you really think I’d make a joke out of you and Thea breaking up?”

“No.” Gavin sighed. But it seemed too easy. Read some books and, voilà? Thea would take him back with open arms? Was he really that desperate?

He pictured life without Thea.

Yes, he was really that desperate.

Gavin studied the cover again. “Why this one?”

Mack smirked. “Because it’s about an idiot who screws up his marriage and has to win back his wife. Sound familiar?”

He swallowed against his rising humiliation. “What do I have to do?”

“Simple,” Malcolm said. “Listen to us and read the book.”

“Yeah.” Del snorted. “And for fuck’s sake, do not kiss your wife again until I tell you to.”

Courting the Countess

The seventh Earl of Latford had seen many a woman in various stages of undress in his nine and twenty years, but that had not prepared the man for the first breathtaking sight of his wife on their wedding night, looking like an angel in a sheer dressing gown.

Especially since her eyes conveyed the rather clear message that she’d just as soon bathe herself in a pig trough than feel his hands upon her skin.

Bloody inconvenient, that. Because for the first time in his life, Benedict Charles Arthur Seymour was good and truly in love.

“I will do my duty, my lord,” his new wife said, her voice flat and hands trembling as she untied the sash at her waist. Her gown floated to the floor in a pool of white silk, leaving her before him in a simple shift that robbed him of speech and thought.

Benedict ordered his feet to remove themselves from their roots in the doorframe separating his bedchamber from hers. As he drew closer to her, his heart shattered with every sign of her discomfort. The clenched fists at her sides. The shaky rise and fall of her chest. The defiant gaze that refused to look away from his.

He had done this. It was his fault.

“You may rest easy,” Benedict rasped, bending to retrieve the silky garment from the floor. Her blessedly bare feet were suddenly the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. Standing, he held the robe open for her. “I am not here for that.”

Confusion replaced anger for a brief moment in her gaze. She allowed him to hold the gown as she threaded her arms through the silk openings once again. She blushed a pale pink as he tied the sash at her waist, a liberty he should not have taken but could not resist. Dear God, just being close to her was going to destroy every shred of coherent thought in his brain.

“May I ask, then, why you are in my bedchamber?” she asked, stepping back from him.

“I have a gift for you.” Benedict pulled the small package from the pocket of his own robe.

Her eyes fell upon the plain brown paper. “I do not require a wedding present, my lord.”

“Benedict.”

“Begging your pardon?” She arched an eyebrow, a sardonic expression for such a well-bred young woman. Precisely the sort of hidden surprises that made him fall in love with her.

“We are married now. I want you to use my Christian name.” He extended the gift farther. “Please.”

A heavy sigh escaped the seam of her lush lips. “What is the purpose of this?”

“Does a husband need a reason to give his wife a present?”

“I thought I made it clear that we are not going to have that kind of marriage, my lord.”

“Benedict. And I don’t recall agreeing to any terms defining what kind of marriage we would have.”

“You established the terms of our marriage quite clearly with your accusation.”

Regret sliced through him, deepening the wound that had bled inside his chest from the moment he realized how wrong he’d been. But by the time he had learned the truth, it was too late. He’d betrayed her trust when it mattered most. “A mistake for which I will be eternally sorry,” he finally rasped.

“And this is an apology?” she asked with a glance at the gift.

“I am not so foolish as to think I can buy your forgiveness, my love. This is just a token of my affection.”

Avoiding his gaze, she carefully unwrapped the paper and opened the long, velvet box to reveal the strand of rubies and diamonds that had cost him a small fortune. Her eyes widened. “My lord . . .” she breathed.

“Benedict,” he corrected quietly. “Does it please you?”

“It is beautiful. But far too lavish for me.”

“Nonsense. You are the Countess of Latford. You should be draped in jewels.”